


The Sundering Seas

by Lady_Loki (Lady_Juno)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Fix-It of Sorts, Grey Havens, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Merry Brandybuck (mentioned), Old!Bilbo, Pippin Took (mentioned), Regret, Sailing into the West, Sam Gamgee (mentioned), The Last Goodbye, fem!Bilbo, girl!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:03:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billa has finally reached the Grey Havens, and knows that this is to be the end--perhaps the real end. Like death. There will be no more goodbyes after this, no more deaths or losses. But the grief, the regret... that's something she knows she'll have to live with forever. If only Thorin would come back and tell her for certain. If only she didn't have to spend the rest of eternity wondering whether he had ever truly loved her. If he had ever forgiven her.<br/>Still, it's time to go. The ship is ready to sail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sundering Seas

**Author's Note:**

> This may sound familiar to some of you, but still I feel it necessary to post it:  
>  **WARNING:** If you have even a minuscule inclination toward Bagginshield, this _will_ make you cry. And I mean serious, ugly sobbing, nose running, tears dripping onto your keyboard and all that good stuff. Get tissues ready. You will need them.

Billa Baggins shuffled slowly down toward the waiting ship, the tapping of her sturdy oak cane echoing out across the smooth stone wharf and up to the tall, empty edifices comprising the Grey Havens. The place wasn't eerie in its abandonment - quite the opposite - for an elvenhome was an elvenhome, peopled or not, and the essence of its former occupants lingered on both in stern, silent beauty and the memory of laughter and song. Still, there was a certain solemnity hanging in the air as the old hobbit determinedly worked her way along, and even the cries of the gulls drifting on the salty sea breeze sounded mournful.

Her old, hazel eyes were still bright and clear as ever, though a little more tired, resting amidst the deep wrinkles of her wizened face, and she kept them on the four tall figures at the end of the wharf. Gandalf, and three elves. The White Lady and her husband, she had never met. Lord Elrond, Master of the Last Homely House, she knew well. It was he who had extended his welcome to her so long ago, when she'd been young and adventurous. When she'd still believed a Baggins could be a burglar, meddle in the affairs of dwarves and wizards and not cause all kinds of trouble.

She had accepted, in later years, hoping to relive something of the adventure she’d had in her youth, but found little of what she’d sought. Nothing to which she could cling, nothing in which she found meaning. Or hope. Lord Elrond’s house was a place of many comings and goings, and news was not scarce - she heard of the deeds of the Mountain King, his wise and prosperous rule in Erebor, and how he and his loyal nephews had so bravely repelled the second attack upon the city of Dale even as the armies of Rohan and Gondor stood encircled upon the plains before the Black Gate itself. She’d sighed to hear of it, lowering her head in her hands, relieved. Relieved. But why the relief? Why was it that she still cared, after what had happened? After what he’d done to her?

He’d cast her out. That day at the gate of Erebor, so many decades ago. Well, Dwalin had. But Thorin hadn’t stopped him. Just stood there, looking pale and betrayed, and then turned away, plodding slowly back inside. That was the last time she’d seen him, but for all the years that had passed between that day and this, she could still remember that final look he’d given her. That agonizing parting glance in which lay a riven heart.   

The waves were lapping placidly up against the shore nearby, breaking upon the stone shelf to which the ship was moored. It was a tall ship, canvas drawn, its smooth, gently rounded sides narrowing toward the bow from which jutted the figurehead of a swan, wings spread, its proud neck arching west.

Into the West. That was where Billa was going now, her journeys ended, her part in the tale complete. She glanced behind at the four hobbits trailing solemnly at her heels, and smiled. A knowing smile, a smile of farewell. They were here to see her and her nephew Frodo off - his trusty gardener Samwise, and their two young friends, Merry and Pippin. That’s all they were now: plain, ordinary hobbits, and content to be so. To have the praise and gratitude of all of Gondor, and of Gondor’s restored king… such, while honorable and appreciated, was not the true desire of any halfling.

“Here, Auntie, let me help you.” It was Frodo’s voice, no longer as high and clear and carefree as it had once been. He had endured things few others could’ve, and his trials had left their mark, even with the Shadow now behind them. He came around, supporting Billa’s shoulder as she moved toward the gangplank. The young hobbit had borne the Ring, and the indelible scars of its presence were still upon his heart. Once a Ring-bearer, always a Ring-bearer. Billa knew this well. She had borne it longer than Frodo.

As she came within a stone’s throw of the three Elves, she caught sight of the sea and the setting sun and halted. Reservations had begun to creep in. A feeling of unfinished business, a longing beneath the surface she’d never wholly resolved. She’d known it before, but perhaps she’d never quite realized the finality of it all. Once she boarded this ship, there would be no turning back. She would be saying farewell to everything she had known. Everything she had loved.

That included him. There had only been one _him_  in her life, one who shared her fiery temper, and appreciated her as she was - an oddity, a free spirit, an adventurer. In her dreams and waking fancies, Thorin would come to her, say he forgave her. Say he understood. Say he loved her, and had never stopped. She’d waited. Waited and waited. Waited to the very breaking point of all hope. Still nothing. He’d never come to her, never sent any message.

Nor had she sent him any form of correspondence. She’d toyed with the idea - nay, _wrestled_  with it - again and again. The impulse grew stronger at times and weaker at others. As the years passed, though, it had died out nearly altogether, only emerging late at night, when she was dreaming of her adventures, when she was back with the Company. It seemed so easy, somehow, to explain herself then. She’d explain that she hadn’t meant to betray him; she’d only been trying to save him. The Great Worm had told her of the Arkenstone’s power to corrupt, and she had believed him. She couldn’t see Thorin become like the figure whose legacy haunted his steps - Thror, that Mountain King in whose heart love was consumed by avarice and manic fear - fear not for his family, his kingdom, his people, but for that damnable jewel.

Billa had to admit she’d never quite understood such a corruptive force. Balin had told her of King Thror’s madness and greed, but it took the all-consuming hold of the Ring for her to grasp just what the tuggings of the Arkenstone might have actually been like. But that was some time later; certainly it had taken some time for the user to become the used, but in the end, there could be no other result. For a time, though, it faded into the background and became a pretty bauble she’d keep in a chest and only bring out to look out every now and then, primarily useful for escaping the Sackville-Bagginses.

It was all that remained of her mad venture, that Quest of Erebor that had been nothing but misery from the start, and ended the same. Other than him, but that was just as ill-fated as the quest itself. That’s what she told herself. She’d hoped, once she’d returned safely to the Shire, that things would go back to normal. That she’d be able to lose herself in her daily routine once more, in the reading of books, housekeeping, tending the garden, and a quiet pipe by the fire at night. However much these things helped, though, they never fully eased that raw, aching feeling in her insides. They were never more than a temporary distraction.

The worst part was that she couldn’t fully justify the decision she’d made, and so ease the guilt. It’s much easier to cope with a wrong done to oneself if it’s not at least halfway deserved. Self-righteousness can be like a warm blanket to wrap oneself in, a balm to ease the pain of loss, but Billa had none.

She’d been trying to do what was right, sure enough, but it hadn’t turned out that way. Bard had, evidently, secured his share of the dragon hoard and used it to rebuild Laketown and feed the refugees, and Thorin had gotten his precious stone back and suffered in private whatever hold the shiny thing had over him. It was clear he’d not gone off like his grandfather had, so it had turned out alright in the end.

Turned out alright for everyone but Billa. She was left with nothing but a few chests of troll treasure and an empty house. Life had seemed so unspeakably dull after that, and even as full as she kept her schedule, the loneliness was overwhelming. She missed them. All of them. Even the unpleasant Nori and the gruff Dwalin - yes, even him. But most especially Thorin.

The hardest part, though, was the wondering. Wondering if she’d done herself a favor… or made the worst mistake of her life. The few select people she’d shared her inner debate with naturally counseled her toward the former. What business did she have living among dwarves, being in love with a dwarf?

Surprisingly, none of their comforting words did much to assuage her regret, or cut down on the incessant “What if?” scenarios with which her mind was plagued. _What if I had sent him a letter apologizing, explaining myself? Might we still, at least, have been friends?_  More _than friends? What if I hadn’t been so easily persuaded by Bard and the Elvenking to return to the Shire? What If I’d stayed, waited for Thorin to cool down a little?_

She knew well enough they were no good, these questions. Even as the long years of her life dragged on, and she adopted Frodo to ease some of her loneliness (“I’m so selfish, my dear boy. So very selfish”), and even penned her memoirs, carefully omitting all mention of the bond shared briefly between herself and Thorin, her regrets lived on.

Now, it was over. She was leaving for good, and whatever fancies she’d always entertained about going back, making amends, and at the very least, apologizing for the act the dwarves had considered the bitterest of betrayals, were ended.

She sighed, pulled from her reverie by Frodo’s voice. “Auntie? Are you alright?” There was a look of concern in his eyes, sky-blue, darkly fringed. He’d always been a youngling, it seemed. Ever since she’d gone and left him with the Ring. He hadn’t changed at all since then, even as her neighbors had thought her “remarkably well-preserved” at her 111th birthday celebration - the one where she’d vanished and headed off to Rivendell. She hadn’t planned to stay long, though.

She had meant to go back. Back to Erebor. She honestly had. But after staying on in Rivendell for a year or so, she’d found her vigor had waned. Age had caught up with her. Apart from the Ring’s influence, all those years that she’d defied came piling on all at once, and began to show in her. Began to show just how old and haggard she truly was. Maybe it was vanity, in some small way, that ultimately kept her in Rivendell. She didn’t like to think of it that way, but all the same, there was truth to it.

Thorin probably wouldn’t even recognize her now. As long-lived as she was, dwarves were even longer-lived. Only at the utter end of their lives did they take on the appearance of the elderly, progressing very slowly from the time of their prime to old age. As long as it had been since she’d seen him last, compared to the way she had changed, he’d seem very much the same. That thought only served to grieve her more.

“I’m fine,” Billa replied at last, smiling wistfully. “Just… remembering.”

Frodo nodded. “We’re in no rush. Take all the time you need.” He sent a confirmatory glance at Elrond, who bowed slightly, the trailing black strands of his hair tousled gently by the sea breeze.

“This ship will not sail until you are ready, Miss Baggins.”

_I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready._  It all felt so… unresolved. Unfinished. To never know what might have been. To never know if he had truly loved her. Or if, somewhere, deep in his heart of hearts, he still loved her, still felt a quickening in his spirit when he thought of her, and sighed, longing to see her again - that fierce little burglar who’d shared his journey so long ago.

But in the end, it was nothing more than a wish. Never to be known for certain. Billa tightened her grip on the walking stick and blinked away tears. There was no use longing after what could never be. She had to be strong. She had to let go. “I’m ready,” she said, and stepped onto the gangplank, Frodo at her elbow.

Just then, the distinct clip-clopping of hoof-beats was carried from beyond the arched gateway leading to the Havens. A pony, by the sound of it, approaching at a fast lope. Billa turned, surprised. In the distance, a rider came into view, clad in a dark, hooded cloak. As he closed the gap between them and came into focus, Billa gasped, nearly losing her balance. Frodo steadied her, looking worried, and Elrond quickly stepped forward to take her other arm.

It was a dwarf. No doubt about that. His long black hair tumbled out in wavy tangles from beneath his hood, and his beard, black streaked with silver, was gathered into a braid beneath his chin and bound with a metal band. He looked every ounce the great king he had become, even exhausted and dressed in the most simple of mud-spattered traveling garb. His eyes were still the same bright, brooding blue Billa remembered, but there was no trace of the sharp, hostile quality they’d previously carried. They were sad eyes, grieving eyes. Eyes filled with infinite longing and regret.

Thorin had come to her at last.

For a moment, she couldn’t believe it. It was too much. It didn’t make sense. How? How had he known? Why had he come now? For a moment, she stood, her eyes locked with his, her mouth hanging open, twitching a little with words that simply couldn’t get past her lips. Thorin had dismounted now, throwing back his hood, staring at her with no hint of the disgust she’d imagined her aged state would incite in him.

All was perfectly still, all but the oblivious rushing of the ocean tide, the gulls with their mournful cries, the foam-flecked pony’s heaving sighs and heavy breathing. What words could be said? What words could possibly be worthy of this moment, could break a silence that had endured for regretful years beyond count?

“I came as soon as I heard.” Thorin, in the end, was the first to speak. His voice was just as Billa remembered, a little deeper now, rougher maybe, and filled with the heaviness of the years. She released a tense, shuddering breath, closing her eyes briefly.

Frodo, looking rather baffled, assisted his aunt off the gangplank and back down the wharf toward Thorin. Elrond withdrew to stand near the other Elves, exchanging a knowing look with Gandalf. It was plain the Wizard had played some part in the unlooked-for appearance of Erebor’s king.

Billa swallowed heavily, stopping a foot or so from Thorin, who looked very focused, eyes lowered, as though he were trying to maintain composure. “Thorin,” she said, and no book, however skillfully written, could’ve conveyed the emotion in her old voice.

The dwarf looked up, exhaling, the inner corners of his brows lifting slightly. “Billa.”

She swallowed again, trying to fend off the tears and failing. Her face trembled, and she released a sob, feeling very weak. Frodo tried to hold her up, but her legs buckled too suddenly, and a moment later, she would’ve been on the ground had Thorin not lunged forward and caught her.

“Oh, Billa." Her cradled her to him as he once had, as it was clear he'd longed to ever since. Gently, he stroked her frizzy white wisps of hair, bracing her gently as her body shook with sobs.

It was some time before either of them spoke again. This was a moment where words fell short. A moment of infinite regret, where every wasted instant from the time of their parting until now was remembered and grieved.

Finally, Thorin settled to his knees on the stone wharf, seemingly oblivious to its hardness, steadying the old halfling against his shoulder. The others had congregated on board the ship now to give them some privacy, for which both would have been grateful had they been of a mind to notice such things.

“So you did,” Billa whispered, slowly. “You did love me. All along.”

Thorin looked a bit surprised, but continued stroking her hair. “Of course I did, Billa. I’d thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head a little. “I’d thought the letter explained that.”

Billa sat up slightly, startled. “Wh- what letter? You wrote to me?”

Thorin nodded, looking tremendously sad. “You never received it, then.” A weary sigh. “I’d considered that possibility, naturally, but was too proud to send another when there was no response to the first. It was difficult, the writing. I'm not one to... express such things so plainly."

"You never were." Billa suppressed a sniffle, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief she'd managed, this time, not to forget.

"Wrote it after the coronation. Things had settled, and I’d had time to think. I spent days on it, Billa. I agonized over it. And then when I never heard from you,” the dwarf lowered his head a little, his tone betraying just how much the memory pained him, “I assumed you’d rejected my apology. My plea… for you to come back.” His voice was flat now. “It seems we’ve been separated all these years, then, for nothing.”

Billa felt stricken. It had been bad enough believing for so long that he was still angry with her, that he hadn’t forgiven her. To discover that they might have shared their lives together after all but had been denied by some silly twist of fate… that made it unspeakably worse.

“I wish… I can’t tell you how much I wish I’d gotten that letter. I would’ve come back in a heartbeat if I’d known you wanted me to.” She willed back a sob. “And now my life’s been wasted. I’m old. I’ve been alone all these years for no reason at all. I wonder if you can still see anything of what I used to be in this rack of bones and sagging skin.”

Thorin leaned down and kissed her forehead, very gently, very tenderly. “Don’t say that,” he whispered. “It was never on account of your looks that I loved you. You have no idea how I’ve missed you,” he smiled faintly, “my little burglar.”

“But, Thorin,” said Billa, withdrawing a little, “did you never… find someone else? I’d heard there was a Queen Under the Mountain.”

Thorin looked troubled. “I did marry, Billa. I did. It was an obligation of the throne, that I safeguard the royal line. But she died in childbed with our second daughter, and I never pursued another marriage. I had no desire to. You see, Billa, you are bonded to me. My life-mate. That night in Laketown sealed my fate… and, if I don’t miss my guess, yours, too. I could never love another… not even if I tried.”  

Billa’s mouth fell open a little, and she pulled away from Thorin enough that she could look him straight in the eyes. “I wish I had known, Thorin. I so wish I had.” She exhaled heavily, gently grasping one of his familiar, four-stranded braids between her thumb and forefinger, absently stroking the smooth, silver bead. It was the same way he’d worn his hair when he’d appeared at her door that night she’d first been contracted to be the Company’s burglar. He had changed so little. “If only we could go back, start over.”

Thorin offered her a sad smile. “I know, Billa. But what’s done is done, and we can’t change that. All we have is now. This moment, small as it seems.”

“All those years I wasted.” Billa was almost furious with herself. “All those long, horrid, empty years. Me, shut up in my huge house with all the comfortable things I’d longed for, and they weren’t enough. I’d tasted a life of adventure - I’d tasted of love - and afterward, all I’d been content with before fell short. I knew what was missing, and that made it all so much worse. Now my life’s over. I’m sailing to the Undying Lands, never to return.”

Thorin nodded. “Gandalf sent word to me a few days ago. I’ve been riding since then, stopping only for fresh ponies. I didn’t know what I would say until the moment I arrived. All I knew was that I couldn’t - for all the world - let you leave without knowing for certain, without showing you my heart. It can never be more than that, of course, but all the same, I’m glad I came. To know you love me - and always have… it’s more than enough. I will carry it with me until the end of my days.”

“As cross as I am with a certain post carrier,” Billa smiled a little, “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come. I suppose the Powers would have told me if I’d asked, since it’s said they know all things, but still… it’s good to know while I’m still here. I feel blessed to have heard it from you, at long last. To go from this place in sorrow, but not without love.” She met his gaze, releasing his braid to take his other hand. “To have my last sight upon the firm ground of Middle-earth… be your eyes.”

Thorin gripped her hands more firmly, patiently helping her find her feet. “I long to follow you where you go,” he said softly, “but Gandalf told me the ship is for elf-friends only, and those who have borne great burdens. Those for whom no rest may be found in this world. For us, there will only ever be memory.”

“I shall think of you always,” the hobbit said. “That much will not change. But I’ll try not to think of you in grief now, pining for what might’ve been.”

The dwarf king leaned down to kiss the top of her head, kneeling again to look up into her eyes. He’d spent so much of the time he’d had with her before towering over her, it was pleasant, Billa thought, to see him more at her level.

“No matter what lies between us," his voice was husky with long-suppressed sorrow, “no matter what dark paths there may be yet for me to tread, the memory of your love will strengthen me.” He paused, looking out beyond Billa to the setting sun as it cast its golden rays over the shining waves. “I pray Mahal we will meet again.”

Billa smiled, gently running a hand through the trailing strands of his dark, grey-streaked hair. “I believe we will, Thorin Oakenshield. I really and truly do.” She forced a chuckle. “The Valar have a lot to make up for with their little blunder, letting that letter get lost.”

Thorin’s smile was faint, but genuine, and he seemed surprised that he could find any mirth at all in letting her slip away from him again - this time, perhaps forever. He cupped her cheeks with strong, calloused fingers. It was clear he hadn’t allowed the years to soften him, working elbow to elbow with the other craftsman as though he weren’t the King Under the Mountain at all. “The fault lies with me, as well. I should have been more persistent, but I was too proud. Even when Gandalf encouraged me, told me there may have been a mistake, I wouldn’t believe him. I placed so much credence in my own… foolish assumptions.”

“Stop that,” said Billa, seriously. “Now’s no time for berating yourself.” She snorted a little. “You can do that later, if you must. You always were one to brood.”

Thorin nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ve had more reasons that most. Although, from what you’ve told me,” he jostled her shoulder lightly, “I may have rubbed off on you a bit.”

Billa looked surprised. “Maybe. But sobbing and writing self-pitying poems that I could then wad up and try to throw into the fireplace from across the room was never as… _appealing_  as your brooding.”

“Fair enough,” said Thorin, and left it at that.

He escorted her slowly back down the wharf, and Frodo stepped off the ship to take his aunt’s other arm. They halted at the gangplank, and Thorin tugged one of the silver beads from his braid, pressing it into Billa’s palm. Her hand closed around it, and she turned a questioning look on him.

“For you to remember me by,” he said softly.

Billa reached up and, with surprising strength, pulled the dwarf king down and kissed him full on the lips. “For you to remember _me_  by,” she explained afterward, looking very much the impish Billa he recalled so well. The kiss, too, was familiar. He’d missed it.

Reluctantly, Thorin released her, allowing the younger hobbit to guide his aunt over the walkway, onto the lightly swaying deck of the ship.

It was clear the elves were ready to sail, and had been for some time. The gangplank was withdrawn, the moorings untied. Gandalf was seated in the stern, and catching Thorin’s eye, he nodded approvingly, the hint of a smile lurking in his incisive gaze. While there would always be much for the dwarf to regret regarding Billa, this would not be one of those things. The old hobbit turned, supporting herself against the ornately carved railing. As she gazed back at the dark-haired dwarf, her wispy white curls buffeted in the sea breeze, her eyes filled once more with tears.

The sail was unfurled behind her, billowing in the favorable winds. It was a sound like wings almost, like a great bird beating the wind, flying higher and higher. With a few hearty strokes of the six oars emerging from the lower deck, the ship was well on its way from the wharf, moving swiftly, leaving a trail of foam and churning water in its wake.

The dwarf king watched in silence, a single, cold tear trickling down his cheek. He knew this was what was best for Billa, but all the same… he’d never known it could be so difficult to see anyone go. Perhaps it was because he knew he could never follow her. It felt very final. Maybe, in a way, it was like watching her die, watching her slip from the realm of all that was real and tangible into the great unknown beyond, from whence none were seen again.

He raised a hand in farewell, and saw hers lift in return. “Someday, my love,” she called, her voice carrying surprisingly well over the crashing of the waves. “Someday.”

The distance swallowed her first, then the ship itself, until Thorin could see nothing but the shimmering golden blue of the sea as far as his eyes could reach. With a heavy sigh, he turned away, not meeting the wondering glances of the three halflings that had been left behind. Perhaps they understood something of the loss he felt now, but he could not bring himself to speak to them. Words fell utterly short.

As he trudged slowly back toward his pony, he stole one last glance back at the sea, at the great golden expanse of the sky as the sun sank slowly beneath the waters. _Whatever has come between us, my little burglar - the great sundering deeps themselves - you remain where you’ve always been. In my heart._  


End file.
